


say it again

by mediumbear



Series: Before I See Too Much [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alternative Careers (Kuroko no Basuke), Bridezilla Kise, Established Relationship, M/M, Model Kise Ryouta, Pilot Kise Ryouta, Police Officer Aomine Daiki, Wedding Planning, background MidoTaka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24150172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediumbear/pseuds/mediumbear
Summary: Aomine and Kise are engaged. Aomine can't help but feel like Kise's overthinking the whole wedding ceremony thing though.
Relationships: Aomine Daiki/Kise Ryouta
Series: Before I See Too Much [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1050521
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	say it again

**Author's Note:**

> despite it being my forever ship this is my first Aokise fic ever! whoo!
> 
> this is set in the Before I See Too Much AU verse, chronologically between chapters 20 and the epilogue before their wedding.

It shouldn’t really bother him, but it does, that it’s the third night this week that Kise isn’t home, and it’s only Thursday. 

These days feels like some kind of exam cram, like a crunch for a deadline -- if there was a deadline, it would be a couple of months or so away when they hop on a plane and head out to some sunny paradise to have the wedding of their dreams. Aomine doesn’t have his usual sprinkling of days off booked in at the police station so he could save up for honeymoon time and Kise’s crammed in as much work as seems humanly possible alongside planning for the whole thing. 

“It just dragged longer than expected because this particular director really wanted us against the night sky, and before you know it, he’s saying he wants sunrise as well...” Kise sighs, “But anyway… tonight you get all that time alone with Number 2, lucky thing!”

The modelling agency must have him doing overtime if they’re willing to put him up in hotels between shoots. This wouldn’t be a problem if Aomine didn’t have a shift pattern that left him home alone most evenings this month, he thinks dolefully. Late nights fly-bys in the kitchen when he’s rough around the edges from an arrest, and being able to see Kise’s sleeping face in the morning when he leaves -- those, those he can deal with. Aomine grunts some affirming noise that’s neither here nor there into the phone wedged in his shoulder while he pets the great big dog sprawled blissfully across his lap. Just two guys alone together and one of them smells marginally worse than the other. The one who’s happiest about this situation and all the attention it brings is Number 2, he reckons. 

“Honestly,” Kise replies like he’d retorted with words, “I’m not sleeping in a hotel because I want to be, you know?”

“Really,” Aomine says flatly, and he hates himself for it.

“ _Really_ ,” Kise assures him. “Look on the bright side -- more cash for the wedding. The planner’s paydate is coming up soon anyway. Now we can have a celebration dinner after that as well! Just the two of us. Last night in before the wedding.”

“I’m bored of takeout.”

“Then we’ll cook Kobe beef steak together! I’ll get Kagamicchi’s recipe, from that time we went over after the movie.”

Aomine’s silence is what seems to turn the tide then.

“Are you sulking?” Kise asks quietly, with trepidation, like he’s never encountered this before. And maybe, maybe he hasn’t, Aomine thinks -- it doesn’t feel like anything new to him because he deals with his own miserable self day in, day out, all the time. Kise doesn’t draw that kind of reaction from him normally. Is it because he isn’t in front of him? He can never hold a dour expression when Kise’s around. So why the spite over the phone? He feels like he did in high school, metaphorically escaping to the roof during practice. It isn’t like he’s new to being alone.

“No,” Aomine grumbles, voice low, dragging his hand down his face immediately upon hearing himself speak. Number 2 wiggles in his lap, belly up, at the break in petting. He resumes vaguely rubbing his fluffy stomach and clears his throat, “Okay. Probably.”

Kise giggles and it’s the background music that Aomine realises is missing from the silent apartment.

“Aww, do you miss me?”

Aomine looks sadly at the empty home, bereft of the usual telltale signs of Kise’s existence: without the odd pieces of clothing scattered on the furniture, no vitamin supplement powders out in the studio kitchen, the several chargers for various gadgets no longer plugged into the extension lead by the television. It’s not an unusual sight.

“Yeah.”

Kise makes a sound like he’s just gotten blackmail material in his grubby little hands. “Mmm, you only needed to say. I’ll be home before you know it, _Daikicchi_ ,” he purrs, emphasis on his given name in the way only he says to make everything sound right, everything settling into its place. The last person to call him by his given name was Himuro and it left him feeling bizarre until Kise said it again, like a factory reset.

“Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, definitely. And remember, we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives after August. So what’s a few nights away, hmmm?”

The flame of hope flickering in his stomach seems to spark up a little at that comment, but Aomine shakes off the feeling and nods. “Sure. I’ll come pick you up.”

Kise giggles. “Can’t wait to get me home, huh?”

“I’d come get you right now if your agent wouldn’t have a shitfit.”

“Oh, I’d love that, to see the look on her face when she finds the room’s empty, you should do it!”

“Nah.”

“Daikicchi, you tease,”

“You want teasing?”

Kise’s silent for a moment, and then through the phone audio Aomine hears the sweep of cotton over bedsheets.

“I have work _so_ early,” he says sweetly, softly, “But… maybe, just a little...”

\--

The next time Kise’s away from home is much less cute. Somewhere up in the cockpit above the clouds, Kise’s phone battery threw in the towel. It’s their tradition, that he always texts when he’s landed safely, not because Aomine’s _concerned_ or anything but just because Kise likes to keep him updated and whatnot and it’d be rude for his fiancé to see a selfie on Facebook before actually getting a message from him, you know? But this time it’s not until later after landing, much later, after the fight for baggage pickup and hotel check-in without a functioning smartphone to help with the language barrier, after Aomine’s already called Momoi and Kuroko twice and even tried his ‘work phone’ for modelling jobs only to discover that the SIM card doesn’t work in Bangkok for some reason, after Aomine’s stood up and sat down multiple times at his desk at work in powerless frustration and been all but sent out for an early break by Chief Imayoshi, that Kise gets a replacement battery and manages to call back. 

“Where were you?” Aomine demands the instant the call connects, out on the rooftop of the police station. There’s a second’s lag on the audio and it sounds to him like Kise is reeling before replying.

“Hey--”

The lag is _really_ bad. In the same moment that Aomine deeply regrets his venom in his anger Kise seems to cotton on to his tone.

“Hey, is everything okay? I have a bunch of messages from Momocchi and Kurokocchi saying to message back?”

Aomine swallows before replying. “Yeah, fine.”

“Really? You don’t sound fine.”

He’s been nursing a hangover from the police team’s drinks the night before, only exacerbated from the paperwork on his office day and the fear and the anxiety of the dead silence from his fiancé after flying several thousand pounds of metal through the atmosphere. His browser history is full of news site refreshes trawling for updates on crashes or bad landings. No, he doesn’t fucking sound fine. He elects not to speak before Kise continues, “Listen to this, right -- my phone died on me and it took me ages to find an Apple store here to get it fixed! Like, how can it be hard to find? In a big city like this? I bust out my best English but it turns out a Thai accent in English is waaay out of my--”

“I don’t…” Aomine starts, weakly. _Don’t care_. He’s relieved he’s alright and that’s all his stupid wrung-out brain has the capacity for.

“Huh? I didn’t hear you.”

The connection must be bad. Aomine’s heart sinks.

“When are you back?” he asks quietly.

“Oh, gee, um… Wednesday? Got another stop before coming back Japan-ways.”

Aomine remembers glumly that it’s Monday.

“Sure.”

“I left some notes on the fridge for you, by the way, Daikicchi… Sorry, I don’t wanna give you a to-do list like this but the wedding planner’s coming over Tuesday to pick up some documents for the venue hire. I put them out in a folder, a pink folder. Okay? Momocchi’s also dropping off some fabric samples and patterns for your suit. Make sure you look at them, and if you can make a decision by the time I land that’ll be _really_ helpful!”

It’s not what he wants to hear. It’s not what he wants to speak about.

When Kise’s home, in person, everything is less complicated: he doesn’t get into tussles over the phone and his stupid secret spite doesn’t come out through his voice. 

Besides, he has no idea about anything Kise’s just mentioned.

“Can’t that wait ‘til you get back?”

“Nooo, not really. Tailor’s deadline is Thursday if we want everything in time.”

“Kinda last-minute, huh.”

Kise snaps.

“If you only wanted to criticise me, can it wait until we’re back in the same country?”

It’s been a while since anyone raised their voice at him like that and all Aomine can retort with is, “I was worried.”

“So was I, when I heard how you’d blown up everyone’s phones. It’s only been a couple hours! We’ve been apart way longer than that before!”

“Like I said, I was worried…”

“Doesn’t give you a free pass to be rude, honestly,” Kise replies, “Look -- I’d be doing it myself if I was there, but can you make sure the stuff on the list gets done? I’m counting on you.”

“Look, I just wanted to know you were okay after I didn’t hear anything and now you’re throwing all this stuff at me--”

“What, is it a surprise that you have to do stuff while I’m away from home?”

No, well. To say he’s used to being alone when Kise’s abroad is a lie. He can continue his routine just fine with some extra chores, meals alone, but this is the first he’s been asked to weigh in on the wedding admin so brazenly after what feels like Kise waving him away from it out of concern he’s going to ruin things. Aomine can feel himself burning up with shame ahead of the words that are going to tumble regretfully, completely unfairly, out of his mouth. Like his body on the court he can’t stop it by the time he’s thinking about it.

“All you’re doing is pawning off your stuff on me.”

“‘My’ stuff? You said it yourself, Aominecchi -- that you hated planning things! That it was a pain! That you wished somebody else would do the organising!”

It’s true, and Aomine remembers clearly the day he’d mumbled it aloud whilst leafing through wedding venue booklets on the floor of their untidy apartment, and he hadn’t seen Kise’s face then but knowing the result of it said so cuttingly is like being skewered like an unsuspecting fish in a stream. The call of his surname-nickname attacks him like an afterthought. Kise continues. 

“So the least you could do is hand over some papers and like, _look_ at the suit you’re gonna wear on the day!”

“You’re really trusting someone stupid like me to make a decision?” he kicks back defensively.

“Yes,” Kise replies, quick as an arrow and says sarcastically, “Oh, and don’t forget you have to make a decision _on the day_ too.”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, knows he’s losing this match.

“Ryouta,” he struggles.

“Next time you call me, act your age?”

“Ryou, don’t hang up--” 

“Bye!”

\--

“I’m really sorry,” Aomine says again, his face pressed into his fiancé’s back in bed as Kise scrolls on his tablet.

“Mmm,” Kise hums neutrally. He’s not over it. Aomine hugs a little tighter, exercising his right as the big spoon, which elicits a quick whine from Kise, “Nooo, you’re squeezing me.”

Aomine duly releases his grip and locks his hands together over Kise’s navel like a terribly unfashionable belt. He’s spent the majority of the night alternating between pushing his forehead into Kise’s soft silky hair just to feel its ends on his skin, and resting his cheek on his nape. 

The journey back home had gone much more smoothly, and although Kise accepted his offer of a lift from the airport he hardly looked at Aomine for all the airy chatting he was doing about the trip, and this, and that, and the latest he’d heard from the wedding planner, and the deal he’d struck with the outfitter to have five suits to choose from with only one to pay for if he’d model the other four free of charge. He had yet to break to the press that renowned youth model Kise Ryouta was engaged, let alone mere months away from getting married, so it would be his last fabulous job before he gave up lifestyle and sports modelling. Like he’d explained to Aomine briefly before, there’s a big difference between lifestyle, fitness, commercial and fashion modelling, so leaving the former two for the latter two would be a sort of graduation. Especially what with his thirties in sight. Such casual chatter seemed like worlds away to Aomine at the wheel once Kise hit the topic of suits and stopped speaking. He hadn’t really said much since then all the way to now.

“I’m sorry,” he tries again for the fiftieth time. But Kise doesn’t say anything. He continues scrolling on his tablet and over his shoulder Aomine can see he’s looking at their same old Pinterest imageboard of couples posing with pearly smiles in front of electric-blue skies in Greece or Turkey or wherever. Kise lingers on one image focusing on two grooms holding hands when Aomine takes the moment of stillness to slot his chin over Kise’s shoulder and tuck his knees in tightly under his, a bearhug of a move that wraps Kise up in his arms like a pea in a pod, where he belongs.

“What’re you workin’ on?” he whispers into his ear and despite Kise’s mood he can feel him hesitate to stay quiet much longer, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Aomine almost feels bad for it; he only wants to be closer.

“The outfits,” Kise says and expands the image slightly, holding up the tablet so it’s within Aomine’s eyeline, “I like the brushed silk on the lapels. Momocchi did too, so I already asked the tailor for it. I wonder if it’ll look any different from when I look at it here compared to when we see it in the sun…?”

“It’ll look fine,”

“I don’t want it to look fine, I want it to look great,” Kise sighs, and turns off the tablet, setting it down.

“It will. You will. You always do.” Aomine nuzzles into his neck again as Kise turns off the bedside light, leaving the room in darkness and almost, it seems, in deeper silence, the only sounds in the room being the shuffle of the sheets as Kise turns around and Number 2’s snuffling sleeping breaths in his bed on the floor. Loosing up his grip Aomine tucks Kise close, spreading his legs so his fiancé’s can slot neatly between them the way they do like they were made for one another and he sighs into the hold without hesitation, but not before he braces his hand against Aomine’s shoulder and pauses to kiss him.

“Only two months to go,” Kise says as he pulls away, facing Aomine on the pillows, although Aomine can’t really see him just yet in the dark. It’ll have been the first time he’s faced him since coming home. Aomine strokes his back.

“It don’t take long to tailor suits,” Aomine says with positive belief.

Kise sighs. “You think that’s all there is to organise?”

“It’s what you’re worryin’ about right now.”

“My head doesn’t have the room to worry about everything at once,” he says, “That’s Himeko-chan’s job.”

If they could go one fucking hour without mentioning the wedding planner.

Granted, the whole thing has all but consumed their lives ever since they finally agreed on and paid for the venue, but Aomine’s starting to wonder if this is to be a three-person marriage with the presence she has. At this point he’d honestly prefer Satsuki do it. She’d do great. At least she’d tell him straight what exactly is going on. Aomine grumbles.

“Look…”

“Sorry, Daikicchi… that I said that awful thing to you.” Kise interrupts him suddenly, squeezing his shoulder. 

“I’ve already forgotten it,” Aomine says half-truthfully, “Anyway, I’m the one who should be sorry. I _am_ sorry.”

“It’s fine, I forgot all about it…”

Copycat. 

Kise sounds sleepy. He never likes to end a day with unresolved conflicts. 

“Ryouta,”

“Yeah?”

“Gimme something to do to help.”

“You need to pick your suit,” Kise sighs drowsily.

“No-- yeah, sure. I’ll do that tomorrow, I promise.”

“Yaaay.” He says softly, but earnestly, eyes shut. Aomine brushes the hair out of his face, back from his forehead. At last his night vision’s adjusted. But Kise’s eyebags are deep, deeper than they’ve looked in a while, even with the dabs of anti-ageing and stress rescue eye cream he puts on every night. Aomine can smell some extra product in the mix now that he can’t recognise, tangy and floral.

“But, let me do other things too.”

“I can handle it, Daikicchi... “

“It’s _our_ wedding,” he says insistently, kissing Kise’s bared forehead just at the hairline like it’ll keep him awake, “I have to pull my weight.”

“In the morning,” he replies after nearly a full minute of exhausted silence, “Talk about it in the morning.”

\--

His shift pattern’s on nights, but just in case Kise has something during the day Aomine still wakes up early enough to catch the blazing summer sunrise, go for a park run with Number 2, and gets the coffee-maker going on his return to the apartment. Nothing’s written on the family calendar in the kitchen schedule-wise but he can’t assume what his partner is or isn’t filling his time with, now that he’s officially dipped his toes into the bottomless ocean that is wedding planning. Turns out putting a deposit on the venue and booking the hotel isn’t the end of it. Aomine has to wonder, seriously, how much Kise and Momoi managed to pull off with the help of this Himeko person without actively avoiding him -- he feels like he’s seen Satsuki the most in the last few weeks than he has since high school, but he still isn’t sure where they are with it all. On the kitchen island there’s a new folder, this time in a bright red colour, with all the fabric samples slipped into the front. He’d promised Kise he’d look at this today, right. He pulls out the samples -- the fabric’s arranged as cut squares clipped onto a ring, each with a name and number. There’s a real selection of light colours and black. Something about Charcoal Sleek #16 calls to him, or maybe it makes him think of his old Touou basketball jersey.

Kise’s awake when he goes to bring him some attempt at breakfast in bed -- coffee and one of his probiotic yoghurts, _look, it’s a start_ \-- already on his feet, wearing his staying-at-home glasses and fully-dressed in cropped leggings and the soft laundry-fresh t-shirt he only wears when he doesn’t have anywhere to go. Aomine kicks the door shut behind him so Number 2 can’t crash in when he’s holding a full mug in each hand.

“Up already?”

Kise’s smile as he turns is a sunbeam, even on a face that doesn’t appear to have rested a jot since the night before. “Morning. Is that for me?”

They kiss good morning by the bed where Kise’s half-heartedly tucked in one corner of the bedsheet, and he sits briefly like he’s already tired, cradling his mug. “You’re so sweet, Daikicchi. Don’t you have work later?”

“Yeah, later though.” He shrugs. “You?”

Kise shakes his head. “Swapped my day in. I need to send back the stuff to Himeko-chan tonight…”

Aomine doesn’t ask if that’s a pilot or a model shift he’s exchanged with a worker, but either way, he looks like he could use the rest, not-- spending it poring over more paperwork or samples. He catches himself thinking of those things with disdain and takes a swig from his coffee in an attempt to help wipe those feelings away with the bitter taste.

This is important to Kise, he drills into himself.

“Me too. Right?”

“Yeah, your suit fabric samples. They sent a catalogue too so you can see what the finished outfit looks like. Cool, right?”

“Right.” He tries to solidify the target in his head, the detail of the catalogue, then a thought occurs to him. “What about yours?”

“Hm?”

“Your suit, Ryou. Wait, are you going bridal or some shit?”

“Eh? No, no!” He shakes his head and all of a sudden his fiancé’s eaten up in a shade of cherry-pink that Aomine hasn’t seen on him in the daylight since he’d proposed, “No dress -- although I did consider it, you know -- it’ll probably be a suit…”

“Probably, huh?” Aomine perches on the end of the bedframe to peer at him, and interestingly, Kise won’t meet his eyes at all. Behind the lenses those golden eyes are searching everywhere but his face. “You mean you ain’t chosen your… outfit, or whatever?”

That’s when Kise seems to be halfway to switching to tears, his eyes glittering with mist. He’s always quick at pulling out the crocodile tears but this time it feels too tender to be fake, or perhaps Aomine still feels raw, sensitive from their argument--

“No, I haven’t had the time…”

“D-Don’t cry,” Aomine hears himself saying, practically tossing his empty cup on the bed as he reaches out to stroke down his shoulders, “Hey, it’s fine, we have until tonight, you said. Right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Kise sighs, “I wanted Momocchi here to help me pick but she’s out of town til tomorrow, and I…”

“Satsuki? Well…”

Kise’s lip trembles.

He honest to God looks like he might burst into tears, like a teenager watching their love letter get opened in front of them.

“You want… my opinion?” Aomine ventures.

It seems to open up a new world, as Kise looks up with curiosity in his expression, the dewiness clearing from his eyes. Then just as Aomine’s starting to feel those warm fuzzies from doing a good deed or whatever Kise frowns, lightning-fast. What a beast, he thinks.

“We can’t see each other in our suits until the big day! That’s the point!” he’s practically fuming, but okay, at least he isn’t crying any more.

“You believe that superstition? Really?”

“What? Not really, but there’s magic in that kind of thing… It’s romantic!”

“Romantic, huh…”

“Um, yes! It’s a _wedding_! Our wedding! It’s meant to be romantic! Magical! In case you’d missed that!”

“Right, right, I get it. We’ll pick our own outfits, and then send off the order…”

“Exactly, and we’ll get them fitted, separately, and then that’s it until the day of!”

“What if I gain a belt size between now and then?”

Kise turns pale with shock, or maybe rage, and Aomine’s cackling as he pummels his chest weakly with softly-curled fists. Riling him up is better than the silent treatment, and agitated Kise is miles better than sad Kise. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare!”

“Kidding, I’m kidding! Ow, you mean it, huh?!”

Kise marches him out of the bedroom, wearing that pout he can’t help creeping up when he’s angry but not really. “Listen, you’re not allowed to come in here until I say so, okay? Knock before you go to work, though, so I can say goodbye.”

“Can I text you at least?” Aomine grins over his shoulder.

“Out! Out!”

Which is how Aomine finds himself an hour into being home alone in the kitchen-lounge, deep in the world of fabric swatches and outfitters’ catalogues. Turns out he can text Kise, but he isn’t even leaving him on read. Feels a little ruthless, honestly. He sees he’s active on a chat app though. Must be sending photos to Satsuki or something. Aomine puts his phone down and stares at his outstretched arm, five different swatches unclipped and laid over his skin, as if there’s any other way to check what colour works than to put it on his body. He doesn’t know much about what he’s looking for, but the best way to start is by eliminating the ones he doesn’t like, rather than just picking the ones he does like. Or something.

One by one he flicks them off onto the ground with a finger, and distracts himself with the catalogue. A few pages are marked with sticky paper tabs -- some in blue, some in yellow. He has to smile at that.

The blue-marked pages have some suits that… really, don’t look all that different to one another at first, but when he flips the papers back and forth between them he starts to notice the styles switching. Lower lapels. A longer fit. Creases in different places or more buttons or no buttons at all. He squints. In the pit of his stomach he can feel -- some familiar old sensation, the feeling he used to get when he would stare fruitlessly at his copy of Zunon Boy magazine with Kise on the front and inside featured in a basketball spread thumbing the pages until they were dog-eared and trying, all the while, to figure out what made Kise different to all of the other pretty-boy models in the adverts, in the articles, in the fashion sections. Trying to grasp at a definition with his hands, a definition he wanted.

Maybe it wasn’t so complicated because in the end the answer was simply that he liked Kise, for whatever reasons, with whatever attractions and some unknown implications of his tastes or orientation that went with it. 

He stares at the second bookmarked page until the groom’s glossy catalogue-paper face swims in his unblinking vision.

Maybe he just needs to find something he likes.

He agrees with the idea of a suit with as few buttons and embellishments as possible (doesn’t need those getting in the way on the wedding night), and luckily it’s one that has several circles inked around the sizing chart, so perhaps Kise already has him sussed out and knew he’d want it. Fine. Sure. The colours are next, but decision-making already has him worn out.

Across the hall he can hear the thump of Kise stumbling across the floor like he’s tripped over taking his trousers off, and then a squeaked out “I’m fine!” as Aomine stands up. Man’s psychic, he thinks. 

He scrolls on their shared Pinterest board while waiting for his motivation to show itself, and he’s somewhat surprised to find that it’s had hardly any changes made to it. He figured that the long calls with Himeko meant new things were being added all the time; Satsuki liked to think she knew what was best for him too so he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d taken it over. But, no. It looks untouched.

When it comes to colours he never gives it much thought; something that won’t stand out, something dark, something weather-appropriate. You always see the groom in photoshoots wearing a black suit, anyway. He casts his mind back to Midorima and Takao’s wedding; it was a traditional Japanese event, Takao in a dark outfit and as if to make up for the lack of a bride, Midorima’s family had picked out a lighter-coloured kimono for their son. Light and dark. A hilarious contrast considering how rarely Midorima smiled, but it worked in his favour and made it seem that much more special of an occasion; Aomine wasn’t sure if anybody else had noticed the faintest sweep of pink across the man’s face that complemented the snowy-white silk so perfectly. So, well. If anyone took even one glance at himself next to Kise he could guess who’d be the sparkling beacon of the two.

All the same.

‘We match’, Kise had said to him once, still bubbly with joy days after accepting his proposal, holding his hand over Aomine’s with their engagement rings clicking over one another. 

He knows, he knows it’s a joke that Kise’s following his lead all the time, but isn’t he so severely different to him? Grouchy fucker and a ray of sunshine? Isn’t that what made it a surprise, to find out that after all these years, Kise was trying to adapt some of Aomine’s curiosities? Who the hell would want to copy _him_? Aomine was sick of himself at the best of times, he didn’t need another person like him in the world. And yet.

 _‘It’s okay, isn’t it?’_ Kise had smiled somewhat sheepishly -- and Aomine had never seen the man any less than thoroughly enthused for uniting their families on a molecular level -- as they walked into the town hall with their change of name forms in hand, _‘Taking your name?’_

 _‘Why’re you askin’ me,_ ’ he’d replied in all his thoughtless inelegance, _‘It’s makin’ you happy, isn’t it?’_

Kise hid his grin behind the documents. _‘Mm-hm. Everyone will know we’re together.’_

It wouldn’t be any fun if they were pitted against each other like opposites without one of them being a victor. This isn’t a game, Aomine thinks dully as he lays out the fabric swatches out side-by-side. Marriage. They’re in this together.

They’re different all the time, so why not celebrate them uniting?

Kise… would love that, he reckons.

“Matching,” he mumbles under his breath, then grabs a handful of swatches in light colours and ambles down the hall to the bedroom. He has to match with whatever Kise’s wearing. His colour’s chosen, right? It’s the suit he needs now? He pushes the door open, fixing his gaze on the far wall at the head of the bedframe away from the dresser and closet where Kise’s fold-out full-length mirror lays. 

“Oi, I got some colours but I need you to--”

Kise shrieks. It’s enough to make Aomine drop all the fiddly little pieces of fabric in shock, and he stoops down to pick them up. 

“Damn, Ryouta, think you’d’ve seen a ghost--”

But the wait when Kise doesn’t reply or run over to jam him back out of the room is just a few seconds too long and Aomine glances up to the wardrobe, to his fiancé.

In the midday sunlight illuminating him from the back of his shoulders and casting warmth through to the tips of his mussed-up hair from trying on clothes, he stands, radiant, head-to-toe in white.

A bride.

No, of course not-- in well-tailored trousers, effortlessly as always like anything off a shop rail would fit him, a suit with thin lapels, feathery-light fabric beneath making the most delicate ghost of a white collar shirt he’s ever seen.

An angel, he thinks.

Other than the tears filling his eyes.

“R-Ryouta, what’s…”

“I told you not to come in,” Kise says, his voice wobbling, “I don’t look good like this,”

“What’re you talking about, you look great!” Aomine hears himself saying like an idiot like he’s briefly forgotten any nice words longer than one syllable, “Amazing! Really… really good!”

“And you’ve ruined the surprise…” His tone wavers dangerously towards a full-blown sob, the likes of which Aomine hasn’t really dealt with in-- in years. Oh shit. He practically leaps across the room to hug him as if that’ll contain the tears.

“I’m really sorry, I’m an idiot, I know, but I wanted your opinion.”

Kise looks at him wearily. “I’m tired of making decisions right now.”

“I bet,” Aomine cups his cheek, slides his other hand up and down the back of the silky suit, “You’ve been working really hard, haven’t you?”

As a soothing tactic it doesn’t work. Or maybe it does. Kise bursts into tears on the spot.

It takes a long while of rubbing his back and patting his hair and saying absolutely nothing for the tears to pass, the shoulder of Aomine’s hoodie getting soggier as the time passes, until Kise eventually curls his fists against Aomine’s chest and whispers “Ew.”

“It’s your snot,” he says, passing him a fresh but creased tissue from his pocket.

“Models don’t get runny noses.” 

“Then you’re one of a kind, huh?”

Kise gives his shoulder a little thump.

“Are you that sad that I saw you? 'Cause I'm sorry.” Aomine murmurs into his ear, swaying him gently like the world’s worst attempt at ballroom.

“Not really,” Kise replies with his gaze out the window by the bed, “I’m just... It’s just… I’ve never had this much trouble with an outfit before.”

“Uh huh.”

“I want it to be… everything, you know. Magical and complete and perfect. It’s important.”

“It’ll look more complete with the, you know.”

A little more swaying, a careful turn that’s a touch more dancelike across the messy floor.

“With what?” Kise says.

“You know, the…” Aomine’s gesturing over his head, which of course, Kise can’t see all tucked up as he is, so he pulls back to watch him frown and wave his hand airily until the word comes to him, “The veil. The veil I pull back when you’re at the altar.”

“I--” Kise stares and then laughs. Aomine frowns. He didn’t think his impression was that bad, really. “I’m not going to have a veil, Daikicchi, what are you talking about?”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I can wear one if you want,” he says quickly, smiling, his eyes glittering with the smallest leftover of tears, “I didn’t think it would… go.”

“Everything goes when you wear it,” Aomine rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “I keep tellin’ ya.”

Kise giggles. “You wanted my opinion on something?”

“Right. Looked at the colours. Think we should match.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… like, the suits, or whatever,” He holds out his miserable selection of fabric cuttings in no particular order, a pale blue and an ivory standing out, “We should look like we go together. No point it being a lucky dip for the two of us.”

“Daiki,” Kise says, and the lack of his usual nicknaming has Aomine burst into a full flush across his face, so rarely does he ever hear that outside of sex. For the change in attention he can’t look at Kise just yet, and fiddles with the fabric swatches in his hand.

“Maybe, I don’t know, our shirts are white just because... but I’ll have this Pearl colour suit and you’ll have this… uh… Champagne number three. You look good in… colours.”

“Daiki,” 

He looks up and Kise’s smiling at him. A keen smile, like he’s struggling to keep a secret.

“You really are going to help plan, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” he grumbles, “You cried from stress and it’s my fault. Gotta make it up to you.”

“Ugh, what a bad look. Okay. Let me note down what you said, give me those samples...”

While he notes it on his phone, Aomine spies a few other white suits folded over the end of the bedframe. He thinks he recognises a few from the yellow-tabbed paged in the catalogue. “Those the others?”

“Yeah, I’m trying them on again, though. I really can’t decide without Momocchi here. She just _knows_ me!”

“Let me help,”

Kise looks at him, and this time it’s a measuring gaze, like he’s assessing how well he matches up to Momoi’s level of analysis. It’s almost visible, the decision of _well, he doesn’t know style but he_ is _going to be my husband after all_ passing over his expression.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “But I won’t tell you which one I’m choosing. Just give me your feedback and it’ll be a surprise which one it is.”

“Deal.”

Kise grins and it really, really nails how blindingly beautiful he’s going to be on the day, shining and light and _happy_.

“Lucky you. I don’t always do fashion shows for free, you know?”

Aomine scoffs and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his legs. “Hurry it up. Do we have a deadline or not?”

“You’re awful.”

“Yeah. Come on, then. Show me what you got.”


End file.
